SUKKOT

 (5767)

 

WILDERNESS REVISITED

 

“You shall dwell in booths seven days; all who are Israelites born shall dwell in booths;  That your generations may know that I made the people of Israel to dwell in booths, when I brought them out of the land of Egypt; I am the Lord your God.”

                                                            (Leviticus 23:42-43)

 

            If I had to create a new Jewish calendar, I would certainly lay the holidays out differently.  It is extremely difficult to go from Yom Kippur to Sukkot a mere five days later.  We go from a full day of fasting and prayer to setting up a temporary booth with branches on the roof for all our meals, acquiring four species to wave in every direction, and preparing food for our most joyous holidays.  Why are these festivals so close together?

            Allow me to suggest a reason that occurred to me after I wrote about the Jewish view towards nature and the wilderness last week.   Last week I wrote that Judaism sometimes takes an anti-nature view, seeing the wilderness as a howling, scary, dangerous place.  The Jewish role is to transform nature.  Much of Judaism grew up in reaction to paganism, which saw nature as holy and filled with spirit.  Judaism saw nature as God’s creation, and an imperfect creation at that.  Our job as human beings is to transform nature, to perfect God’s creation.  That is why modern Israel can brag about draining the swamps and building cities on sand dunes.

            This vision of nature goes all the way back to early Rabbinic times.  According to the Midrash (Tanhuma, parshat Tazria, perek 5), there is an exchange between the Roman general Turnisrufus and Rabbi Akiba.  The general asks the rabbi which is superior, God’s creation or human creation.  Akiba argues that human creation is superior, giving the example of circumcision.  Circumcision proves that through human action we perfect the imperfect work of God.  To the Greeks and Romans, the human body was perfect; imperfect babies were left to die.  To the Jews, nature is here to be perfected, while a transcendent God stands outside nature.

            On Yom Kippur, we Jews imitate the as closely as we can a God who exists beyond nature.  We deny the material aspects of our being.  We do not eat nor drink, have sexual relations or wash, anoint ourselves or wear comfortable leather shoes.  We avoid any kind of work.  For over twenty-four hours we live as angels, beyond the material.  We connect with the spiritual part of ourselves, and the transcendent God who is beyond nature.  Someone asked me what the weather was like outside on Yom Kippur day.  I could not answer; I spent the entire day indoors in synagogue.  Yom Kippur, with all its spiritual power, is an anti-nature festival.

            Five days later we celebrate Sukkot, a holiday which is the precise opposite of Yom Kippur.  We quite literally return to nature.  We leave our homes and dwell in temporary huts, reminiscent of the huts we dwelt in while traveling across the wilderness.  We eat our meals in the Sukkah; some very pious Jews even live there, open to the elements.  We take four species, a palm frond, willow branches, myrtle branches, and an etrog, a lemon-like citrus fruit, and wave them in every direction.  We show that God is everywhere, present in the physical world. 

            On Sukkot we notice the cycle of the moon.  It is always full on the first night of Sukkot.  The cycle of the moon reminds us of the ancient pagan cycles of time and renewal.  We are commanded to be joyous, even if we do not feel joyous.  Our emotions overrule our inner feelings.  Sukkot is a true nature festival.

            There is a message in this return to nature of Sukkot.  God is not only transcendent, existing beyond the material world.  God is also immanent, present in nature.   Perhaps the ancient pagans did do something right in recognizing the divine presence in the natural world.  Perhaps the modern interest in kabbala grows out of this sense that the material universe is God’s emanation and is literally contained in God.

            On Yom Kippur God is transcendent – beyond nature.  On Sukkot God is immanent – within nature.  In Judaism, God is both.  On Sukkot we celebrate the Jewish return to nature.  In this age of environmental damage, the God of nature is a vital message the world needs to hear.

 

 

SUKKOT

(5766)

GROWING OLD

“Do not cast us out in our old age, when our strength fails, do not abandon us"                                                          (Yom Kippur Liturgy)

 

            On the Shabbat in the middle of Sukkot we read the book of Ecclesiastes.  Few books of the Bible are as pessimistic.   To give a taste of this beautiful book, “Vanity of vanities, said Kohelet, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.  What gains a man from all his labor at which he labors under the sun?   One generation passes away, and another generation comes; but the earth abides for ever.  The sun also rises, and the sun goes down, and hastens to its place where it rises again.  The wind goes toward the south, and turns around to the north; it whirls around continually, and the wind returns again according to its circuits.   All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; to the place from where the rivers come, there they return again.   All things are full of weariness; man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.”  (Ecclesiastes 1:2-8)

            According to Jewish tradition, King Solomon wrote this book in his old age.  How different from the book Song of Songs, which he wrote in his youth.  Song of Songs speaks of the joy and excitement of love.  Ecclesiastes speaks of the vanity and hopelessness of life.  We grow old, our bodies begin to wear down, we experience losses, and suddenly life is a “vanity of vanities.”

            We live in a culture that celebrates youth.  Billions of dollars are exchanged in ways to stay young, healthy, and good looking.  We turn to everything from liposuction to hair dyes, makeovers to work outs.  Celebrity magazines celebrate beautiful women and good looking men over forty and fifty.  Our greatest fear is growing old.  As a society, we truly pray the line from the Yom Kippur liturgy – “Do not cast us out in our old age, when our strength fails, do not abandon us.”   We fear growing old.  And too many of us, like King Solomon, become cynical and lose all sense of purpose as we face the ravages of old age.

            Compare this fear of old age to a classical Midrash from Jewish tradition.  When Abraham’s wife Sarah gave birth to Isaac, God made Isaac resemble Abraham so that no one would question paternity.  In fact, the father and son looked so much alike that people used to confuse the two of them.  Abraham was upset and cried out to God, “Make a distinction between the father and the son.”  So God answered his prayer and gave him gray hair, making him look older.  Now there was no question who was the father and who was the sun.   Now people would know whom to honor.

            From the point of view of Jewish tradition, old age is seen as a blessing.  The elderly are worthy of honor.  One prays to grow old.  The Passover haggada speaks of  Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria who says “I was like a man of seventy and never understood why we tell the story of the exodus at night.”  In truth, he was a young man when offered the position as head of the academy.  He felt he was too young, but his wife convinced him to take the job.  He woke the next day with white hair, looking like a man of seventy worthy of the position.  In Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria’s eyes, old age was a blessing.

            Why do we celebrate old age?  It is not simply a question of considering the alternative.  Rather, it is based on the belief that we humans have a body and a soul.  Our bodies are material objects, and like all material objects, they wear down over time.  We humans are not immune to the reality of entropy.  If we are fortunate enough to live long enough, eventually our bodies will wear down.  We can delay the inevitable through good health habits, but we can not avoid it altogether.

            However, we also have souls.  Some would even say that rather than being a body which contains a soul, each of us is a soul inhabiting a body.  This gives us a very different perspective.  Our essence, the most important part of our being, does not wear down with age.  On the contrary, our souls grow with age.  The more we learn, the more people we meet, the more of life we experience, the wiser our souls become.  And it is never too late to keep growing our souls, to keep learning and experiencing more of life.  That is the reason we honor old age.  The body may be broken.  But the soul has grown.

            If we only focus on our bodies, on the material, we will see old age as “vanities of vanities.”  That is the sadness of King Solomon.  But if we focus on our souls, we can understand the verse from Proverbs, also written by King Solomon, “The glory of young men is their strength; and the beauty of old men is the grey head.”  (Proverbs 20:29)  Perhaps in our society that worships youth, it is time to see the beauty of the grey head.

 

 

SUKKOT

(5764)

 

AN OPEN HOME

 

I am honored to welcome to my sukkah the following distinguished guests: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, and David; Sarah, Rebecca, Leah, Rachel, Miriam, Deborah, and Ruth."

(Prayerbook Sim Shalom)

 

I want to share an eye opening experience from my Rabbinical school days living in Manhattan.  I met a very Orthodox family who invited me to spend Shabbat in their home in Far Rockaway.  As a single and a newcomer to New York, it was wonderful to spend a weekend with a family.

When I arrived, the family placed me in their oldest son's bedroom.  I told them that I did not want to replace him, and they explained, "When we bought this house, we made it clear to our children that they could each have their own bedroom during the week.  On Shabbat, they would have to give up their privacy.  Our bedrooms are reserved for guests every weekend."

I spent a beautiful, very Orthodox Shabbat with the family.  When I left, like too many young people, I was slow following up with a proper thank you note.  Imagine my surprise when a note arrived in my mailbox a few days later.  It was a thank you from the family, thanking me for giving them the opportunity to practice the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim - welcoming guests into their home.

Our tradition has always taught an open door policy regarding our homes.  Guests are welcome.  The Sabbath and festivals are particularly worthy times to welcome people.  On Passover, we open the door and call out, "all who are hungry come in and eat."  Later we open the door for a second time to welcome Elijah the prophet.  Over the years my own family has welcomed to our seder everyone from a Christian evangelical to a professional football player and his wife.

The festival of Sukkot is particularly built around having guests.  We eat our meals outside, in a sukkah, a flimsy booth with branches for a roof.  According to Jewish tradition, each evening as we sit down we invite a different Biblical patriarch.  In the ushpizin prayer, we invite Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron, and David.  Today, with new feminist sensitivity, many also welcome such matriarchs as Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Leah, Miriam, Deborah and Ruth. 

An open sukkah filled with guests is a key part of the holiday celebration.  One of my more fascinating experiences in Pittsburgh was inviting all my neighbors in our entirely non-Jewish condo for refreshments in our sukkah, and explaining what this temporary structure behind our townhouse was.  (The condo association eventually passed a rule outlawing temporary religious structures, but we were able to delay passage of this rule with our annual invitations.)

Today we have built walls of privacy around our lives.  Part of this is security.  We live in unsafe times.  We have deadbolts and alarm systems.  We live in gated communities.  We often do not know our neighbors, and have lost the sense of community and neighborhood that was part of our shared past. 

This sense of privacy and erecting barriers has followed us from the home to the synagogue.  More and more often, people tell me they want a private bar/bat mitzvah service, where honors and participation is limited to their invited guests, with a private kiddush following services.  On our holiest days we make people purchase tickets and show identity before they can worship with us.  A colleague of mine, a prominent local rabbi, was turned away from his own synagogue by security officers on Rosh Hashana because he was not carrying a ticket.

In our search for privacy and security, we have lost something valuable, opening our doors and welcoming guests.  It is a deep part of our tradition, emphasized on Sukkot but practiced throughout the year.  Walk into any good Orthodox synagogue for a Friday night service as a stranger, and invariably you will be invited for a Sabbath meal.  It is a shame that we have lost that openness in the non-Orthodox world.

In our tradition, privacy was always balanced with openness.  Welcoming guests, strangers, the hungry, those with nowhere to go, the elderly, new converts, college students, military personnel, and anybody else who may need an invite is central to the Torah vision of life.  Sukkot is the perfect time to rediscover the ancient mitzvah of welcoming guests into our own lives.  Who knows what wisdom we will learn from strangers at our Sabbath and holiday table.

SUKKOT

(5763)

 

MATERIAL THINGS

 

"You shall rejoice in thy feast."

(Deuteronomy 16:14)

 

A hasid (a pious Jew) once traveled a great distance to visit with his rebbe (spiritual leader).  The hasid came to his rebbe=s home and was amazed by what he saw.  His rebbe was a great spiritual leader with followers throughout Europe.  Yet he lived in a tiny home, with few pieces of furniture, not many clothes, and a minimum number of belongings.

The hasid said, "How can a man of such prominence live with so little?"  The rebbe responded, "You traveled all this way, and all you have is a small suitcase.  How can you live with so little?"  The hasid responded, "I am on a trip and just passing through.  This is all I need."  The rebbe calmly looked at him, "I am also just passing through!"

We live in a material culture.  We long for things, big beautiful homes in nice neighborhoods, fancy cars, computers, stereos, electronic toys, a large wardrobe of nice clothes, homes full of goodies.  And there is nothing wrong with enjoying nice things in life.  In fact, on Sukkot we read the book of Ecclesiastes which contains the verse, "Go eat your bread in gladness, and drink your wine in joy, for your action was long ago approved by God.  Let you clothes always be freshly washed and your head never lack ointment."  (Ecclesiastes 9:7-8)

Material things can give us pleasure.  There is no virtue in poverty and there is nothing wrong with enjoying nice things.  However, there is a powerful lesson in the festival of Sukkot.  Material things can not give us true joy.

On Sukkot we leave the material comfort of our home.  We eat our meals in a little temporary hut with branches on for a roof.  We are subject to the wind, the rain, the bugs, the heat.  Many people literally move into the Sukkah, not only eating but sleeping outside.  As I write this, I am worried if I can put up my Sukkah at all this year.  They tell me a tropical storm is bearing down on Florida which may reach hurricane status by the weekend.  How can I leave the comfort of my home?

On Sukkot we are also commanded to be joyous.  In fact it is called in Hebrew the hag, the festival.  We must rejoice even if our heart does not feel joyous.  We must rejoice without all the material goodies which most of us find so vital to our lives.  Once can be joyous without all the material comforts we cherish.

I read recently of a survey of people who had won the lottery.  After the first shock and excitement of winning had worn off, after they had spent some of the money, the survey asked whether they had found happiness in their winnings.  The results were not surprising.  Those people who were happy with their lives before they won remained happy afterwards.  And those people who were unhappy with their lives before they won remained unhappy afterwards.  Perhaps these people had a few more luxuries.  But the luxuries ultimately did not bring them happiness.

If material things were the key to happiness, then our movie stars, sports celebrities, rock idols, business tycoons, ought to be the happiest people in our society.  Yet the tabloids bear witness that many suffer from drug and alcohol abuse, poor marriages and family estrangement, and a lack of fulfillment and meaning in their lives.  They are often far less happy than the rest of us who lack their material resources.

In Jewish tradition, when a person dies he or she is buried in a shroud, a simple white garment with no pockets.  This is symbolic that we cannot take our material things with us.  We are only passing through.  Ultimately joy must come not in what we acquire in life but what we accomplish in life.  Sukkot teaches that we can be joyous in a fragile hut.  Let us use this festival to find the true source of happiness in life.

HOL HAMOED SUKKOT

(5762)

 

HOW TO REJOICE

 

"You shall rejoice in your festival."

                       (Deuteronomy 16:14)

 

This is a sad and difficult time in our nation.  Yet as Jews we are in the middle of our most joyous festival, Sukkot (the feast of tabernacles), called z=man simhateinu, the time of our joy.  We are commanded to be joyous.  How can we possible heed a command to be joyous at this time.

The answer is to consider how a joyous person behaves.  Then even if our heart is not there, we act as if we are joyous.  We behave in a certain way, and the heart follows.  If we can sing a little, dance a little, smile a little, clown around on Simchat Torah, the inner feeling will follow.

This is a profound teaching from our tradition.  Actions come first, and inner feelings often follow actions.  Motivational speakers often teach "Dress for the job you want, not the job you have."  Cary Grant, the actor, once explained how he became such a romantic leading man.  He said that he was an actor first, and by acting like a romantic leading man, he became a romantic leading man.  Let me share a short section from my previous book God, Love, Sex, and Family.  It speaks of acting loving even if we do not feel loving:

Here is one area where the Biblical outlook is at variance with contemporary values.  In our contemporary world, the inner feeling comes before the behavior.  One feels love in one's heart, and then one acts in accordance with that love.  I hear so often, "I don't love them, it would be hypocritical to act as if I do."  In the Bible it is the other way around.  We act or behave in a certain way, and the inner feelings of the heart come afterwards.  When the Israelites received the Torah at Mt. Sinai, their immortal words were "We shall do and we shall understand." (Exodus 24:7)  First came the action, then the inner feeling.  First comes the duty, then comes the love.

I use this insight frequently in my rabbinic counseling.  I remember meeting with a mother and a son who were estranged and trying to rebuild a relationship.  The mother complained that when the son saw her he refused to hug and kiss her as a son should do for a mother.  The son said that he was angry at his mother and could not bring himself to kiss her.  I told him to do it anyway, even if he did not feel like it. 

In a similar situation, I recently sought the advice of a professional marriage counselor.  "How do you rebuilt affection between a husband and wife when they do not feel affectionate."  His answer: "Tell them to act as if they feel affectionate.  Hold hands even when they feel estranged.  Kiss each other.  The action may feel unnatural at first, but eventually the feeling will flow from it."  The correct action itself will eventually lead to the correct inner feeling.

As a society, we place great value on inner feelings.  Nonethe­less, ultimately love is manifested in action.  Even the commandment "you shall love the Lord your God" is followed by a whole series of actions from teaching them to your children to binding them on your hands.  (See Deuteronomy 6:5-9)

A bride and groom once came to see me to plan their wedding.  I was surprised that the bride was not wearing a ring.  The groom replied, "we feel our love in our heart.  We do not need such artifi­cial symbols to show our love."  Later in a private moment, the bride confided in me, "I know he loves me, but I wish he had bought me a ring."  She desires a commitment of action, not simply a profession of an inner feeling.

On this festival of Sukkot, let us act joyous.  Hopefully the inner feeling will follow and joy will return to our lives.

 

SUKKOT

                 (5761)                     

 

TEMPORARY HOMES

 

"You shall dwell in booths seven days, all that are homeborn in Israel shall dwell in booths."

(Leviticus 23:42)

                       

When I ask potential converts what they find so attractive about Judaism, I usually hear about Jewish family and homelife.  Jews have traditionally seen their homes as the center of their strength.  The words of the pagan prophet Balaam have echoed through the ages, "How goodly are thy tents O Jacob, thy dwelling places O Israel." (Numbers 24:5)

Our homes are built on strong foundations.  However, there are two different occasions in Jewish life when we leave the comfort of a permanent home and set up a temporary home.  One is the sukkah, a temporary booth that serves as our symbolic (and for many Jews, real) home for the seven days of the festival.  Then there is the huppah, the marriage canopy which serves as the temporary home of a bride and groom.  Looking at the sukkah and the huppah, we can learn a powerful lesson about home life.

A sukkah, in order to be kosher, must have solid walls (at least 2 1/2).  However, the ceiling is open to the skies.  Branches are laid across the top so that there is more shade than sun, but never so many branches that rain cannot fall through.  The sukkah is symbolized by solid walls and an open top.

A huppah on the other hand has a canopy across the top.  The bride and groom must be standing under a tallit, a cloth, some solid floral arrangement, or some other covering.  The sides of the huppah are open, welcoming friends and family.  The huppah is symbolized by a solid top and open walls.

So we have two temporary homes in Jewish life, one with solid walls and an open top, one with open sides and a solid top.  Together they give a message of what should be brought into a Jewish home.

The open top symbolizes the importance of bringing God's presence into our homes.  We feel that spiritual presence when there is a mezuzah on the front door, or preferably on all the doors.  It continues when blessings are said before and after meals, candles are lit on the Sabbath and festivals, children are taught to say the sh'ma when they go to bed, and people treat one another as created in God's image.

I have told the story of the little boy who goes to visit his grandparents for a week.  They teach him to kiss the mezuzah as a reminder of God's presence in the home, to say blessings and the sh'ma at night, to light the Shabbat candles.  After a week he returns to his parents.  He kisses his grandparents goodbye, touches the mezuzah one last time, and says, "Goodbye God, I am going home now.  I am not going to see You anymore."